


Thanks, Stromatolites

by anomalousity



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-10
Updated: 2015-01-10
Packaged: 2018-03-06 23:38:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3152561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anomalousity/pseuds/anomalousity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s probably a bad thing to think that a grad student four years his senior is fucking adorable, but Stiles has never really considered himself a paragon of good thought. Because, and yeah he’s openly ogling, even the tense line of Derek’s broad shoulders is endearing, and the way his ears stick out either side of his head like they were meant for someone less physically intimidating makes Stiles’ heart stutter, and-</p><p>Stiles is going to stop before he hurts himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thanks, Stromatolites

This week has been kicking Stiles’ ass, fucking him nine ways ‘til Sunday, giving it to him good, and essentially been terrible.

Scott decided to throw a kegger at his frat last night, and Stiles, if only because he’s his best friend, attended despite not being a brother. Fortunately or unfortunately, he’s more than acquainted with the majority of the guys living there, and thankfully, he’s not picked on about hanging around in Scott’s room whenever Allison isn’t staying over, or whenever he’s pining over someone way out of his league.

They have an awesome relationship, is what he’s saying.

Anyways, kegger the night before he works? Not such a good idea. He’s hung over, achy, and hungry and someone (Jackson) pulled his covers off and told him to get his ass out if he’s not helping with rent and utilities at five in the morning, leaving him to walk back to his dorm in cold, morose solitude. At least it was sobering, he supposes.

But he’s totally unprepared for dealing with Derek.

The guy is unfairly attractive; like, if every molecular biologist was chiseled as fuck buff, with scruff and pretty eyes and angular features and really, _really_ cute thick framed glasses, Stiles would’ve declared during his second semester. As it were, he is where he is and he doesn’t know whether to thank his stars or curse them at any given moment.

He tosses his jacket on one of the less cluttered tables and grabs his designated lab jacket before making his way to the freezer and grabbing this week’s samples. He takes them to the centrifuge, stuffs them all in without any regard to position (okay, Stiles may not have read the protocol but he’s pretty sure he knows what he’s doing) and shuts the machine before he feels the telltale heat of another person’s body somewhere close to him.

“You know how to use the centrifuge, right?” Derek asks over his shoulder, warm breath puffing over the side of Stiles’ face.

Stiles jumps a little before relaxing and shrugging. “Why don’t you enlighten me?” he asks right back, because he knows he’s due for a lecture.

Derek actually goes as far as to hip chuck him out of the way before opening the device and plucking out half the samples, and arranging the rest into perfect symmetry, slowly introducing the rest until they’re all ready to go.

“It might break things that are nearby or the device itself if it’s unbalanced,” Derek says, eyes to the machine as he punches in the four minute timer and hits start. He fixes an impassive glance into Stiles’ eyes before he’s nodding back to the machine. “Until they’re finished, get the stuff for electrolysis ready.”

And then, he does this ridiculous thing where he nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose with his knuckle and wrinkles his nose before he’s tugging his jacket into place and turning away.

It’s probably a bad thing to think that a grad student four years his senior is fucking adorable, but Stiles has never really considered himself a paragon of good thought. Because, and yeah he’s openly ogling, even the tense line of Derek’s broad shoulders is endearing, and the way his ears stick out either side of his head like they were meant for someone less physically intimidating makes Stiles’ heart stutter, and-

Stiles is going to stop before he hurts himself.

He focuses on his work, making sure to warm the gel until it’s a steamy liquid, pour it until the mold is full, and add indicator to the liquefied samples. He finishes in less than an hour, and heads out to class as soon as he’s finished.

* * *

* * *

He shows up the next day considerably less hung over but equally as tired. Stiles has this ridiculous tendency to get obvious red bags under his eyes if he doesn’t get his full eight hours, and today is no exception to that tendency. He tries washing his face, tries again, and resigns to looking like he’s run on about thirty minutes of sleep when in reality it’s closer to seven hours.

His morning routine is easy enough to follow, despite his less than stellar looks, and he manages to be out of his room before seven and on the bus before seven-thirty. Derek doesn’t need him in lab until eight, and Stiles figures he might as well stop by the Starbucks next door to their building before heading in.

A mistake, he realizes, as soon as he plops his bag down next to Derek’s briefcase.

“What the hell is that?” Derek asks, pointing a finger at the cup in Stiles’ outstretched hand. His eyes flick to the one he’s sipping from before he frowns and turns back to his laptop. “I don’t want to see you with food or… coffee in lab after this, Stilinski,” he mutters.

Stiles doesn’t really have a reply to that, so he just sets down the cup of French roast next to Derek’s elbow before going about his work.

* * *

* * *

“Tell me about your hot boss.”

Scott and Allison are giving Stiles identical puppy eyes, and looking like an a-bomb of guilt trips and silent cuteness about to unleash. Scott’s even got an arm wrapped around her shoulders for god’s sake, and he’s about three centimeters from kissing her hair.

Apparently they haven’t been hanging out enough as a group, or rather as a bicycle with Stiles as the appreciated third wheel, and needed to catch up. Allison suggested coffee, Stiles suggested anything sweet, and Scott suggested whatever Allison wanted. They ended up at a mom ‘n pop café with pies and fancy coffees.

“He’s stoic,” Stiles replies, brushing his fingers through his hair.

Derek is more than stoic. He’s like an enigma, wrapped in a taco, stuffed in an Erlenmeyer flask, and set to react in ten to twelve minutes. He’s like a really hot, really confusing science burrito. With passive aggressive tendencies and a wicked knowledge of _Lord of the Rings_.

He’s basically everything Stiles could want in a guy, excepting the fact that Derek doesn’t really seem to display any interest in anyone, much less guys, and the small fact that he’s amazingly out of Stiles’ league.

Stiles shrugs and says, “He’s different.” Then he frowns and mutters, “He’s not my boss.”

Allison tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Scott scratches his chin and gives her a dopey smile. Some things really haven’t changed since high school.

“Have you tried talking to him?” Scott asks, leaning his head on Allison’s and yep, that’s Stiles’ resolve flying out the window and probably into outer space.

He rolls his eyes. “I work with him every day, and I’ve never spoken to him in my entire life? Yes, I’ve fucking talked to him, Scott.”

Scott just wrinkles his nose and replies, “About your feelings; don’t be an asshole.”

“It’s-” It’s complicated, is what he means to say. “It’s-” Stiles pushes out of his chair and all but trips over his own feet and makes a horrible attempt that probably looks more like flailing than smooth maneuvering to get his feet under him. “It’s him,” he mutters, and completely doesn’t mean to as he walks up to where Derek is talking with an, well, astonishingly beautiful woman at the counter, blushing beet red as she laughs and doing that horrible thing where he nudges his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

He’s less than five feet away when he figures that he should probably not be interrupting what definitely looks like a date and that he should just crawl back into his lonely hole of loneliness and sexile and anything else of that nature before making a bigger idiot of himself.

“Stiles?”

He’s never really been subtle enough for stealth. Stiles spins around with a fake smile and a cheery wave. “Hi Derek,” he chirps, actively stopping himself from wincing at the screechy tone of his voice. “I was just making my way back, uh, there,” he jabs a thumb in Scott and Allison’s direction before taking a step back.

Derek just frowns before giving him a small, shy smile and that is _not_ an image Stiles needs right now. Or ever, but especially now. He rubs the back of his neck and shifts his weight from foot to foot and if Stiles didn’t know any better he’d say he was blushing a little bit.

“I-” he starts, but then he shuts his mouth and glares daggers at his date, who’s just barely managing to keep a hold on what is definitely an amused smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “It’s nice to see you, Stiles.”

It’s colder than it started, more put upon sounding than it is when he’s in lab. Bitter, Stiles figures. He looks like he swallowed a bucket of lemons.

“’s nice to see you too,” Stiles replies, scratching his neck. He catches the way Derek’s eyes dart down to his hand, then back to his eyes before he’s licking his lower lip. “I’ll, uh, I’m going to go back to my friends. See you later?”

Derek nods, and looks like he’s about to say something, but Stiles just turns around and all but sprints back to where Allison and Scott are forgoing decency and openly snuggling in the middle of the café.

He doesn’t miss the way Allison gives him a knowing look and murmurs something about dumbasses and not knowing interested if it spread itself naked on his bed.

* * *

* * *

A week later, Derek’s scrawling down the labels of the samples on tubes, occasionally pushing his glasses up his nose when they slide down, or running his fingers through his gelled hair, or scratching his face, and Stiles can’t catch himself before he says it because if he could he’d have his head buried so deep in the sand.

“You’re adorable, fuck me against a wall.”

And… okay, he supposes he should’ve seen that coming. Psychology has only made Lydia that much more adamant about telling Stiles what exactly he’s doing to harm his psyche, and, “you internalize, Stiles. It’s going to end up making you either antisocial or share way too much at sporadic intervals.”

He’d just wrinkled his nose and tilted his head. “You mean like how I am now?”

Fucking joke’s on him.

Derek hasn’t looked up, but Stiles hasn’t either so he has no way of knowing whether or not Derek’s unreasonably pissed or blushing or about to bolt or deny it or… any number of things, really. He’s staring at his hands, where a pen is squeezed so tight between his fingers that the skin over his knuckles is white. He’s surprised he hasn’t broken the sample of cerebral tissue in the tube yet; Stiles sends a silent thank you to the engineers for making them flexible.

After a moment, Derek clears his throat. After another, he asks, “What?”

And after another, Stiles is answering, “You heard me.”

“Yes.”

“Any thoughts on that?” Stiles never said he was a champion of relationships.

“Give me a moment.”

So Stiles does. When Derek is ready to speak again, Stiles is a little surprised at what he has to say.

“Any wall?” he asks, and Stiles can feel him shifting, can feel a tentative hand nudging against his own and a couple fingers tugging on his pinky.

Stiles looks up at him so fast he’s worried he might get whiplash. Derek’s staring at him with those wide pretty eyes, not cold at all but warm in the cheesiest, sappy sense that Stiles has, and his glasses are slipping down his nose and oh god, Stiles wants to kiss him.

Instead he reaches up with his free hand and takes off Derek’s glasses, lets his thumb track through the stubble running down Derek’s cheek as he sets them down on the table.

“Preferably not in a lab,” Stiles murmurs, twitching his hand up where Derek’s holding it and sliding their fingers together. “Maybe in your apartment or my dorm. I have a single, so we don’t have to worry-”

Derek’s kissing him.

 _Derek’s kissing him_.

He’s got really soft lips, and the stubble is rough and Stiles knows he’s going to be red and sensitive when Derek pulls away, but he doesn’t care. He shuts his eyes and lets his free hand slide up to Derek’s chest, all while squeezing the one he’s got tangled up in his own. He doesn’t even care that he’s making dumb, keening noises because Derek’s making them right back.

It doesn’t last very long, and it wasn’t anything more than lips, but when they pull apart Derek’s blushing just as red as he was at the café, and Stiles is sure he isn’t much better.

He means to ask him back to his place, once they’re done with catalyzing reactions but what comes out is, “Who was the girl at the café?”

Derek’s eyes widen for a beat, and then he’s laughing. “My sister,” he says.

“Oh,” Stiles replies, blushing.

“Oh?” Derek asks.

“I thought it was a date.” Stiles can probably be spotted on Google just by how red he is.

Derek’s hand slides up and down his thigh, and Stiles forces himself not to think dirty thoughts because that is definitely not what he needs for clarity of mind. He doesn’t put a stop to it, however, even when Derek’s fingers squeeze at his knee. “You’re a moron,” he says after a few moments, still rubbing at Stiles’ leg like it’s the only thing keeping him on earth.

“Hmm,” Stiles hums, too content to even come up with a retort.

“We could, though.”

“Could what?”

“Go out, like normal people do before doing anything against any walls.” Derek sounds flustered. Stiles pulls away if only to confirm that Derek is indeed blushing bright red, and his eyes are all but pinned to Stiles’ shoulder.

He smirks before leaning up to kiss his cheek. “Like normal people, huh?”

“I don’t do one night stands,” Derek replies, gritting his teeth as though the admission is something he’s bitter about.

Stiles just pats his arm and says, “I don’t either.” Then, “We could get burgers in town, at the diner on Seventh and Grand.”

“How’s tonight?” Derek asks, sounding, for all intents and purposes, hesitant and apprehensive.

Stiles grins and ducks down to kiss the tip of his nose, then his lips again and again, before pulling away.

“Tonight’s great.”

**Author's Note:**

> lmao.
> 
> yell at me on [tumblr](http://buckybaarnes.co.vu/).


End file.
